A Change of Heart
by Zenalee
Summary: Connie is back at Holby, and finds friendship in an unexpected place. Rated M for later chapters.  Sequel to The Depressing Giant Swede, but works as a stand alone fic.
1. Chapter 1

The moment Henrik introduced Connie to Miss Sahira Shah, the senior cardiothoracic consultant knew there was a problem. It was there in his body language; he visibly relaxed around Sahira and occasionally smiled fondly at her when he thought no one was looking. Connie couldn't help being a little disappointed. After all, their unexpected night of passion had felt like the start of something, not a one-off encounter. But Henrik's obvious infatuation with Miss Shah, whether he was aware of it or not, was a problem that Connie had no desire to find herself dealing with. To his credit, Hanssen had taken her polite turn-down of his latest dinner invitation with good grace, and they had silently called it quits.

Connie strode confidently in her brand new Alexander McQueen heels towards the nurse's station, where Greg was sipping a coffee and staring off into the distance. He recognised the click of her shoes and tried to look busy, but she wasn't fooled.

'I realise it's almost the end of your shift, Mr Douglas, but I'm surprised you have time to sit down and contemplate the meaning of life when there are tomorrow's theatre lists to be drawn up for my approval.'

'All done, Mrs Beauchamp.' He said, handing her a sheet of paper and looking far too smug.

'Right, well, you'd better be going home then.' She replied curtly, signing the piece of paper with a biro taken from the pocket of his scrubs. As he walked off towards the locker room, she followed him.

'Actually, Greg, if I could have a word...'

He flashed her a smile as the door closed behind them and he removed his scrub top.

'Greg now is it?'

'Mmm. That's what we agreed, wasn't it? Mr Douglas on Darwin, and Greg-'

'In the bedroom.' He smirked, completing her sentence. He leant against the locker and looked at her with a glint in his eye. 'So why did I have to call you Mrs Beauchamp in bed then?'

'Well...,' She said, her voice low and seductive. 'would you like to call me Connie this time?'

'Ah. You mean tonight?'

The door opened and a slightly confused Sahira raised her eyebrows at the sight of Mrs Beauchamp tracing a slow pattern on the Irishman's chest with the business end of a ballpoint pen.

'Are you coming, Greg?' She asked innocently.

'Err, yeah, just give me five minutes.'

Connie rolled her eyes as they were left alone once more. 'Not you as well? Fine. Go and play happy families with the lovely Miss Shah.'

'It's not like that, she's a friend, we're going to the pub, that's all.' Greg replied defensively.

Connie laughed bitterly and shook her head. 'You know what, I'm not interested. I hope you get further than Henrik.'

...

The house was far too quiet. Connie had not expected Greg to flake out on her like that, not that it was an ideal arrangement, but he did provide entertainment, or at the very least an interruption to her otherwise quiet and repetitive life. On that subject, the phone rang and Connie was confused. Hardly anyone had her landline number. If there was a problem at the hospital they would call her mobile, as would her nanny. It was probably just a double-glazing company.

'Hello?'

There was a momentary silence and she wondered if it was a nuisance call, but suddenly there was a man's voice on the other end of the line.

'Connie?' He sounded quiet, and it took a few seconds before she could place the voice. Silly really, because she'd been married to the man for 12 years.

'Michael?'

The line went dead.

She placed the phone back on the kitchen counter, her hands trembling. Not with fear, shock perhaps. Why did he hang up? Actually, why did he ring in the first place? They'd said everything they needed to say to each other, and he'd gone to Sweden. What did he want now?

A different ringtone broke the silence this time, making her jump, and she snatched her mobile phone from her handbag. She checked the caller ID and couldn't decide if it was relief or disappointment she felt when the name "Michael Spence" appeared on the screen.

Two Michaels in as many minutes, she thought wryly.

'Connie Beauchamp." She answers automatically, trying not to sound too rattled.

'Hey Connie, it's Michael. Listen, I'm gonna need your help with a patient. I know it's your night off, but this one is a little tricky, I need someone who's good with hearts.'

'Who's the on call CT consultant? I thought it was Elliot.' She snapped, unwilling to face the drive back to work again.

'It was, but he had an emergency, something about his dog.'

Connie rolled her eyes. 'Fine. You're lucky I haven't started on this Bordeaux yet.' She commented, running the tip of her finger round the rim of the glass and touching a drop of the deep red liquid to her lips.

'Drinking alone, Connie?' Michael jibed, but she didn't rise to the bait.

'I'll be with you in half an hour. Oh and Michael?'

'Yes, Connie?'

'You owe me.' She said smugly, emphasising each word to make her point.

...

Walking out of theatre, the exhausted surgeon cursed Elliot and threw her gloves at the bin in disgust. The last thing she needed right now was a patient dead on the table after a tricky aortic dissection that had dragged on for nearly 9 hours. It was too much.

'Connie, wait! Where are you going?'

Michael Spence followed her out of theatre at a jog. He'd been in there with her out of guilt at calling her rather than being any help, but at least his company was better than that of a silent scrub nurse and a grumpy anaesthetist.

'To tell the relatives.'

He caught her arm and she stopped, waiting for an explanation, her eyes ablaze at the intrusion of her personal space.

'There are no relatives.' He explained gently, 'She was homeless and alone.'

If the thought of having to break the news to fraught relatives was depressing, the idea that the woman had died alone and unloved was even worse. Connie turned to the wall as the tears of frustration and tiredness threatened to fall and expose her heavy heart to her colleague.

'Look, Connie, you're exhausted. Go home and get some rest. You're owed the time anyway.' Michael reasoned.

She shook her head stubbornly and marched away down the corridor without looking at him.

'I've got things to do. I'll be in my office.'

...

It was still dark outside, but it would soon be dawn. Connie left the blinds open and sat in her swivel chair facing the window, looking at the moon. She sighed. The tears had left uncomfortable tracks down her cheeks and she rubbed her face. Why had the death of one patient, who she had only seen briefly before the operation, affected her so strongly? She reached for her handbag to re-do her make-up and saw a red light flashing on her phone.

_3 Missed Calls_

_Unknown Number_

Michael again? Probably. There wasn't much she could do about, except dwell on the fact that her ex-husband was trying to contact her out of the blue after several years of separation. Not only that, but he was being really quite creepy about it.

The door opened and the other Michael, Mr Spence, barged in without waiting to be invited.

'Connie? What are you still doing here? Come on, I'll take you home, you're tired.'

She opened her mouth to protest, but stopped. She didn't want to be here when Henrik, Greg and Sahira turned up for the morning shift. The humiliation of Greg's rejection was still niggling at her. Perhaps it would be best to go home and get some sleep.

'Ok. Thanks.'

He looked surprised that she gave in without a fight, but handed her the grey coat hanging on the back of the office door and walked with her out of the hospital. She settled comfortably into his luxurious 4x4 and they drove silently until they reached main road.

'Which way?'

'Mmm?' She replied.

'Which way to yours?' He repeated.

'Oh, follow the Bristol signs then turn off at the King's Head.'

He raised his eyebrows. They were heading to an expensive out-of-town area. Connie nodded off and woke up just as they turned left down a narrow lane next to the pub.

'It's the driveway up ahead.' She mumbled sleepily.

The tyres crunched on the gravel and he parked outside the front door. She seemed to rally at this point, opening her eyes properly and running a hand through hair where it had been flattened against the car seat.

'Would you like to come in? I haven't eaten, and I guess you haven't either.'

Michael smiled, his rumbling stomach already giving him away.

'Love to.'

She let them in and started turning on some low lights, making the oak-panelled living room more cosy. Michael was impressed, the house was beautiful. Not modern and minimalist like he would have chosen, but he liked it. A hint of Connie's perfume floated around the place, and he suppressed a half-smile. How many men had she seduced in this gorgeous house? It intrigued him; her lifestyle was the kind that people had in movies, bringing home cute one night stands to have fun with while maintaining total independence. It was a far cry from the dull monotony of married life.

He heard a crash from the kitchen and went to investigate.

...

Connie gave him an apologetic look as he entered the room.

'Dropped a pan, sorry.' She explained.

'Let me do that.' He said, smiling, and took the wooden spoon out of her hand to stir the pasta as it cooked in rapidly boiling water.

She tried to hide a yawn, but he noticed. 'Go and have a lie down on the sofa, I can finish this.'

She nodded and went to the living room, grabbing Grace's fleece blanket from behind the sofa. The central heating had gone off hours before, and she couldn't be bothered to re-set it or get a fire going in the grate. She snuggled down into the soft material and brushed her cheek against it. Not long until Sam brought Grace home.

'Here we go.' Michael announced, placing two large plates of pasta and sauce on the coffee table, a couple of forks tucked in his pocket.

He handed one to Connie and then frowned. 'Is that yours or mine?' He asked, indicating the sound of a phone vibrating.

She reached down to her handbag and removed her phone. Unknown number. She cancelled the call and set the phone on the table.

'No one important.'

She tucked her legs closer to her chest so that Michael could sit next to her and they ate in near silence. Eventually, Michael put down his plate and smiled at her.

'Mind if I grab some of that blanket?' He asked, shivering slightly.

'Of course.' She replied amiably, spreading out the quilt.

They settled into a comfortable position, and he was aware of her toes touching his thigh under the blanket. He had a sudden urge to reach down and settle her legs over his lap, but it seemed a rather intimate thing to do, and they had never exactly been close; in fact they would normally struggle to call each other friends.

'You're quiet.' He observed, resting his elbow on the back of the sofa to look at her more comfortably.

'I thought you liked doing all the talking.' She quipped, bringing up a subject that was frequently aired during their banter at work.

He laughed. 'Yeah, you got me there. Seriously though-'

Michael was interrupted by the sound of a phone ringing again. She picked it up, thought for a moment and pressed accept. If she had to hear this, she didn't want to be alone in this house when she did.

She didn't speak.

'Connie? I'm sorry about earlier, I didn't know what to say. Can we talk? Please Con.'

He sounded a little drunk.

'I'm busy, I'm sorry.' She replied tersely.

She cancelled the call, put the phone on silent and dropped it into her handbag, avoiding Michael's eye.

'Let me guess, one night stand coming back for more?' He asked with a half-smile. He was expecting to recieve her "daggers" look, but instead she turned her head away, staring out of the window, where a light patter of rain was starting to appear on the glass.

'Husband, actually.' She said quietly. 'Well, ex-husband. No doubt you've heard all about that little fiasco.

'Hospital gossip and all that.' Michael admitted reluctantly. In fact he'd deliberately looked into the Michael Beauchamp scandal when he came to Holby, thinking that there might be something in there to use against Connie if necessary, but she appeared to be innocent of all the corruption. Now he knew her better, he was sure that she had had no part in his deception. If anyone was still flying the flag for the NHS, it was Connie Beauchamp.

'Where's little Gracie tonight?' He asked, changing the subject, hoping to cheer her up. It didn't work. If anything, she just looked even more lost and depressed.

'She's visiting Sam in the States.'

She smoothed the blanket over her knee and picked at a loose thread.

'We should totally get together one weekend, I bet my girls would love Grace. And Annalese might actually trust me to take care of them if you were there holding my hand!'

He spoke with a light-hearted tone, but they both knew there was some truth behind his words. He didn't see as much of his kids as he desperately wanted to.

Connie smiled half-heartedly. 'We should.'

'You know, Connie,' He started pensievely, resting a hand on her shoulder, his arm lying on the back of the sofa, 'We've had our differences in the last few months-'

He was interrupted by a trademark eyebrow-raise. 'Ok, years maybe. But what I said in London, I meant it. We could make a good team. I've learned from my mistakes. I've learned that there are more important things in life than making a quick buck, or controlling yet another aspect of hospital management. I love being a surgeon, and I love being involved in shaping Holby, but the hospital is your baby, everyone knows that. Even Hanssen knows that.'

Connie's lip twitched at the mention of the Director of Surgery's name. Michael didn't miss it.

'What, did you two have another disagreement?'

'No, no. Just the usual.'

Michael wasn't convinced, but he let it go. They fell silent for a moment, the conversation having gone stale. It wasn't long before he noticed Connie's eyelids closing, her breathing slowing to the steady rhythm of sleep.

'Hey.' Michael said quietly, giving her a little shake on her shoulder. 'No point falling asleep here, there's a bed upstairs.'

He had a little chuckle at her moan of discontent at being woken. Connie was kinda cute when she was sleepy.

'Fine.' She said, like a petulant child. 'I'll go to bed. Are you staying?'

Michael was about to make some silly quip about sharing her bed, but reconsidered when he saw that she was genuinely tired and wouldn't be amused by his games.

'No, I'll leave you to it. I've got a couple of flats to look at in the city, I'm meant to be meeting the estate agent in an hour.'

She walked him to the front door and hovered nearby as he pulled on his coat and scarf, her arms wrapped around herself awkwardly. She looked so much smaller without her killer heels on. Ready to leave, Michael paused considered his options, then pulled her into a hug, ignoring her vague protests.

'I'll see you tomorrow, Connie.' He told her, squeezing gently and pressing a kiss to her hair as he left. Normally that wouldn't be his style, but he didn't care. If she didn't like it, he would just pull the Rude American card and get away with it...

...

As the door closed, leaving Connie alone in her big house once more, she found that a smile was gracing her lips. Michael really was ridiculous. She wasn't sure what had brought on that little display of affection, but she was surprised to find that she didn't mind at all. Discarding all thoughts of the last 24 hours to be dealt with at another time, Connie dragged her weary limbs up the stairs to bed and slid under the duvet still dressed.


	2. Chapter 2

For Connie, the worst thing about going to bed fully dressed in the early morning was waking up with the underwire of her bra digging into her skin. She shifted under the hot duvet, trying to throw it off and adjust her uncomfortable cleavage. It was no good, she had to get up and stop being lazy. One luxurious bath later, she stood in front of her wardrobe in her favourite deep purple French knickers and considered what to wear. She had the day off, but there were some things she wanted to buy in the city, Grace's Christmas present being one of them, so she needed to wear something suitable. That was when she realised. Her car was still at the hospital. She reached for her phone, cursing Michael Spence to hell. She didn't even register the lack of missed calls waiting for her.

'Well hello Mrs Beauchamp. What can I do for you?'

'Well Mr Spence, since you so kindly insisted on giving me a lift home this morning, I appear to be without transport.' She explained, looking at herself in the mirror as she spoke, idly twirling her hair around her fingers.

'Oh Connie, I do apologise. How very inconsiderate of me.' He replied sarcastically.

'Precisely. So, what are you going to do about it?' She asked, preoccupied with finding her best angle in the mirror, admiring how her breasts were still the perfect shape, the skin smooth and soft. What a waste, not having a man about the place to make the most of them!

'Well, I guess I could give you a lift to the hospital, but I need to be at the next flat in half an hour...'

'Fine, pick me up in ten minutes, you can drop me off at the hospital afterwards.'

Michael sounded reluctant, but he didn't have a chance to argue. She put the phone down with a grin. This was going to be fun.

...

'And this is the master bedroom.' The estate agent announced, leading the way to a large empty room with stripped pine floors and a vast window overlooking the river.

'Oh yes,' Connie said before Michael had a chance to stop her, 'this is perfect, isn't it darling?'

She didn't wait for a reply before turning to the young man already nervous after her performance in the kitchen.

'Michael likes a large bed, you see.' She confided loudly, 'for our little parties.'

She winked effortlessly, making the boy's cheeks blush red.

'Right, I think we've seen enough.' Michael said, stepping in to save himself from further embarrassment. 'This place is fine. I'll drop by to put an offer in later. But now, it's time to go.'

'Oh but sweetheart...'

'No really, _darling_.' He replied forcefully. 'Time to go.'

With that he put an arm around her waist and steered her out of the apartment as she struggled to contain her giggles at the mischief she had caused.

'Connie you are impossible.' He whispered in her ear as he dragged her to the car. She waved at the shell-shocked estate agent through the window of the 4x4 and blew him a kiss as they drove away.

'Oh don't be such a prude, Michael. Right, take me to the hospital, we need to see if my beautiful and very expensive car is still in one piece.'

'Alright, alright, anything to make you shut up!'

Connie could tell that he was amused, though, the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth was giving him away.

...

Resisting the urge to pop in to the office on her day off, Connie had made it into town and was fighting her way through the festive shoppers when she left the High Street and headed down an alleyway to the toy shop where she had bought Grace her first teddy bear. There in the window, draped in multi-coloured fairy lights and silver tinsel, was a beautiful wooden rocking horse. Connie stared, transfixed, at his dapple grey patterning and long cream mane. She had always wanted a rocking horse, but her parents had never had that kind of money. Now, as an adult, she could bring a little magic into her daughter's life.

'Can I help you?' The older gentleman in the shop enquired as she closed the door behind her to the chime of a little silver bell above her head.

'I'd like to buy the rocking horse.' She said confidently, feeling suddenly like a little girl again, swept up in the madness of it. After all, the horse was probably worth more than the entire contents of her shoe cupboard.

'Ah.' He said, looking thoughtful. 'Unfortunately the rocking horse is not for sale. He belonged to my grandmother. He's part of the family.'

Connie felt her heart sink. 'Oh. Oh well, never mind.' She replied, trying not to look too disappointed. 'Perhaps I'll just buy another bear then.'

'You've been here before?' The man asked, his blue eyes twinkling kindly.

'Yes. I bought a teddy bear for my daughter here when I was six months pregnant.'

The shop keeper laughed. 'Ah yes, I remember now, you came in from a thunder storm, your face as pale as snow.'

She smiled. 'And you told me to sit down in case I fainted before I bought anything!'

What she now remembered, though she didn't say, was that she hadn't meant to go anywhere near a toy shop at all, it was a spur of the moment decision to get out of the driving rain. But sitting on a little wooden stool, surrounded by all those bears, dolls and hand-painted toys, had made her realise that it was all startlingly real; in three months time she would be sharing her life with her very own little girl.

In the end she did buy a bear, but it wasn't for Grace, it was for herself; a slightly scruffy antique Steiff with a little black button in his ear. What would the staff say if they knew that Cruella de Beauchamp had bought herself a teddy bear?

...

Thank God for Starbucks, Michael thought, as he sank into a fashionably-battered leather sofa with a cinnamon spice mocha. He needed it after all that damn paperwork he'd had to fill in at the estate agents. The flat was his – he didn't like to wait around for these things, and the owner had bitten his hand off at the generous offer he'd made earlier in the day.

He took a sip of the hot coffee and smiled to himself. He'd been a little down about actually committing to somewhere to live. Staying at the hotel, it had felt as if the situation with Annalese was temporary, and they might be able to resolve their differences. In reality, he had just been afraid to move on. He would never admit it, but having Connie there to lighten the mood a bit had really helped, even if her little game had been totally embarrassing.

He wondered what she was up to in town. He could call her, ask her to meet him somewhere for lunch. _And what then?_ He asked himself. What was this all about exactly? Did he just want to get laid? Because there were plenty of younger, less complicated women out there who could give him that. If he did sleep with Connie, she'd only find a way to use it against him. He told himself he was being ridiculous. He needed to stay away from Connie Beauchamp and keep things nice and simple for a while.

...

Across the Atlantic ocean, in his warmly lit apartment, Sam Strachan was packing his daughter's tiny pink suitcase ready for their flight in the morning.

'Isn't mummy going to be so happy to see you?' He asked the little girl who was colouring in a picture of the Statue of Liberty on the carpet with a bright blue pen.

Grace nodded her head knowingly. 'This is for mummy.' She said, holding up the finished drawing proudly, her golden blonde locks framing her little face. He had no idea where she got that from; neither of her parents were blonde. The curls, however, definitely came from Connie's side of the family, though Mrs Beauchamp herself was firmly attached to her ceramic straighteners.

Sam smiled. It had been beyond his wildest dreams that Connie would let Grace stay with him in the States for a month, the longest she had ever been away from home. He'd been surprised that she agreed to the suggestion, but with her recent departure from Holby, perhaps she felt she needed a break to sort herself out. They weren't actually supposed to be flying home until the following week, but he wanted to surprise her, and it would be a really good surprise, if the numerous telephone calls were anything to go by.

There was more to it than that, though. There was a part of Sam that wanted to know if he really was welcome in her life, or if she just permitted his presence for Grace's sake. They had spoken over the phone, but the conversations had been short and a little awkward, especially with an excitable four year old in the room. To be completely sure he needed to see her reaction to his unexpected appearance face to face.


	3. Chapter 3

It was getting dark as Connie's silver Jaguar crunched through the gravel driveway to her house. She gathered together all her shopping bags, not wanting to make another trip out to the car, and struggled through the front door, dropping everything haphazardly at the bottom of the stairs with a sigh.

_That's odd, I don't remember leaving the light on._

Her ears caught the sound of the kitchen door opening with a squeak, and she froze on the spot, looking round for anything heavy she could use to clout whoever had broken in. There was nothing to hand, so she slipped her stilettos off and brandished one of them as a weapon, stepping cautiously into the living room. She could feel her heart beating rapidly in her chest.

'Connie.'

She jumped out of her skin at the sound of his voice, whipping round to see him standing in the doorway, a look of complete innocence plastered on his face.

'Michael, what the hell are you doing here?' She shrieked, unable to articulate how intensely angry she felt at his intrusion.

'Well I did live here once you know.' He explained casually.

'And you were supposed to give me your keys.'

'I know,' Michael admitted, 'but I found a spare for the back door in an old coat. I'm returning it.'

He held out the single key and she took it warily.

'Thank you. Perhaps you can forgo the theatrics next time you "forget" something of mine.' She said, referring to his phone calls.

'Connie.' He said with a sigh, walking closer. She stood her ground. 'No theatrics. I didn't know what to say. I just want us to talk. Look I know we agreed that this was over, but, I miss you. I haven't stopped missing you.'

She rolled her eyes and turned away to shrug off her winter coat and scarf.

'How many years has it been?' She asked pointedly.

A lifetime, she thought to herself. Grace's lifetime anyway.

Michael ignored her question. As she reached to hang the coat on a peg in the hallway, she felt him standing close behind her, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder, his thumb tickling the bare skin of her neck.

'Michael...' She warned.

'Shhh.' He replied, slipping his arms around her waist, cuddling her closer like he used to do when she was working and he wanted her attention. He turned her slightly to face the long mirror at the bottom of the stairs and she examined their reflection thoughtfully.

Their age difference, strangely enough, was more apparent now than it had been when they were married. Michael had always looked younger than his years, but now the lines were showing. The circles under his eyes told of his unhappiness. It was his own fault, Connie reminded herself, but she had been the one to put the final nail in the coffin after all.

A man like Michael Beauchamp would always land on his feet, though. He had got away with a meagre prison sentence and re-invented himself in Sweden. So why did he still look so miserable? Maybe he was telling the truth.

Connie, on the other hand, had grown into her looks. Her high cheekbones and sparkling eyes suited her age and authority. Although she had lost all the weight that pregnancy had forced upon her, her body seemed softer now, more curvaceous. She found it strange to think that if they slept together now, Michael would have no idea that she'd had a child in the time they were apart. How could they possibly go back to their marriage after everything that had happened? They barely knew each other any more.

'Did you miss me at all?' He asked quietly, his lips barely brushing her skin.

A knock at the door interrupted them, and Connie swiftly pushed his hands away from her waist to answer it.

...

A figure approached the door more quickly than Sam had expected. Grace jiggled impatiently on the doorstep, stamping her cold feet in their little red shoes. He knew who it was; he could tell from her size, her delicate frame hardly disguised by the patterned glass. His heart skipped a beat as the lock released and the heavy oak wood swung back with a squeak.

Connie Beauchamp. She was stunning. Her hair was so much longer than it had been two years previously, the soft fringe complementing her dark eyes perfectly. The new look made her appear more vulnerable than he remembered, more fragile.

'Mummy!' Grace shouted, before either of them could speak. The little girl released Sam's hand and ran to her mother, who automatically bent down to scoop her up in her arms, which was getting more and more difficult these days.

'Hello baby, why are you back so early? Did you miss me?' She asked. She looked to Sam suddenly. 'Is everything ok? Has something happened?'

'No, no. It's fine.' He reassured her. 'We just wanted to surprise you, didn't we Grace?'

The little girl pressed her cheek to her mother's shoulder and clutched the pendant she was wearing, yawning loudly.

It was then that Sam registered the man standing behind Connie in the shadows, his face white with shock.

'Time to go Michael.' She said quietly, registering Sam's confused look.

The older man passed them reluctantly, his eyes fixed on Grace.

'We need to talk, Connie.' He said calmly but firmly as she closed the door behind him.

Sam was fairly sure he knew who that was, and he wasn't happy about it. He wasn't going to ask Connie to explain in front of Grace though. As mother and daughter disappeared into the kitchen to get a drink, he dragged the suitcases up the stairs and tried very hard not to think about the reappearance of Michael Beauchamp.

...

_Brilliant timing as always, Sam. _

Connie watched her daughter gulp down the cup of orange squash and wondered why they had really come back early. Of course she was happy to see them, having Grace back with her was exactly what she needed. But how long was Sam going to stay? No doubt he would have plenty to say about Michael being there, and she wasn't in the mood for that.

She reached for a bottle of wine and wiggled her toes on the cold tiled floor. Her feet ached after all the shopping; all she wanted to do was sit down and cuddle her little girl on the sofa, not deal with all these annoyances.

'Hey.' Sam said, sticking his head round the kitchen door.

Connie proffered a glass of red.

'Ah, just what I need. The flight was VERY long, especially with a hyperactive passenger sitting next to me.'

He ruffled Grace's hair and smiled at Connie. She managed a half-hearted smile back and glanced at the boxes in the corner, overflowing with tinsel.

'I haven't even put the decorations up yet.' She muttered. The plan had been to get everything ready before they arrived so that the house looked all warm and Christmassy.

'That's ok, we can do it together, it'll be fun.' He said, displaying a staggering amount of energy for someone who had just been on a 7 hour flight with a small child.

'Mmm...' She replied reluctantly.

'Or, I can do it and you can watch and shout instructions.' He suggested, steering her towards the living room.

'Now that's more like it.' Connie replied with a smile.

...

Michael Spence cast a weary eye over his new apartment. All his things were inside it, physically, but they had yet to be put into their places, which was a bit of a challenge without any furniture. He would have to go shopping, and he hated things like that.

He knew someone who would make it a whole lot more fun. He conjured a mental picture of Connie in a bed shop and grinned to himself. He checked his watch. It was getting late, he had no food and he didn't know how to use the new oven. Perfect excuse to eat out. On his own? Perhaps Mrs Beauchamp would like to be taken out for dinner...

He sighed and remembered his earlier resolution. Better not. He slid his phone out of his pocket and flicked through his contacts, finally pressing call.

'Hey, you fancy a curry tonight?'

'Is this like a date? Are we exclusive?'

'Ha. Funny. No, Jac, it's not a date. It's curry and beer.'

'I see. A man-date. I'm flattered.' She replied, her trademark sarcasm coming across loud and clear.

'Come on, Naylor, give me a break. I'm being nice.'

'You mean you don't want to sit on your own. Fine, usual place, 20 minutes. Don't be late.'

Michael laughed and shook his head at the abrupt ending of the phone call. He was in for an interesting evening. Reaching for his coat, he slid his key into the lock and wrapped his scarf tighter around his neck in preparation for the cold outside.

'You must be my new neighbour.' A voice said from across the hall.

Michael turned to see a smartly dressed man standing by the door to the next flat.

'That's me.' He replied, 'Michael Spence. I just moved in.'

'Ah, me too. On both counts actually. I'm Michael.'

The stranger made no move to go into his flat, instead pausing as if he wanted to chat.

'It's a buy-to-let I'm afraid,' he explained, 'but don't worry I'll find a nice tenant.'

'I'm sure.'

'You'll have to put up with me for a while, though. I thought I'd do the place up myself.'

'Great. Well I'll see you around.' Michael said, finishing the conversation before it could drag on. He had absolutely no interest in becoming best buddies with his next door neighbour, and it wasn't wise to keep Naylor waiting...


	4. Chapter 4

Jac Naylor was not a woman who wanted or needed close friends; she was every inch the hardcore Cardio surgeon, and her ambition for greatness was matched only by her ruthless disregard for other people's feelings. Well, that was the image she had been carefully cultivating for about 20 years now. Michael knew that the only reason they went out together now and then was because she had been forced to confide in him about her past when her absent mother had come looking for a kidney donor, and that had opened up a few lines of communication between them. Did Jac ever get lonely? If she did, she had never admitted it. It was always Michael who suggested going for a drink or a meal, and she had so far put up with his self-pitying rants about his ex-wife without complaint.

On this particular night, the planned curry and beer was inevitably followed by many more beers in a local bar (Jac had veto-d the pub on the grounds that it was fully of smelly old men who stared at her breasts) and Michael was finding himself nicely relaxed in her company.

'You're drunk.' Jac announced, flicking her long straight hair over her shoulder triumphantly.

'No I'm not!' He protested, waggling his finger at her. 'It's just that you have a freakish level of alcohol tolerance. I always seem drunk by comparison.'

'Yeah. Right. So why are we here? Is this about Annalese? No doubt she's denying you access to the kids again and shagging Ric's brains out...' She asked bluntly.

Michael screwed up his face in horror. 'No. No! Annalese is history. Old news.'

'Wow, and they call me heartless one.' Jac replied, surprised.

'No they don't. Well ok, they do, but it's not like you care.' He deflected quickly.

'And on the subject of comparisons, here's something I can't get to the bottom of. Now that Cruella de Beauchamp is back on Darwin, clip-clopping about in her ridiculous heels, barking orders and running the place like a sweatshop, I should be the "nice one" but Hansen still hates me. Worse than that, I think he actually _likes_ her.'

'Connie's alright.' Michael said quietly. 'She cares about her patients.'

Jac frowned. 'Since when have you been a paid up member of the Mrs Beauchamp fan club?'

He shook his head. 'It's nothing. Doesn't matter.'

'No, please do tell me, I want to know what brought about this massive U-turn.'

Michael pressed his hand to the cool beer glass. 'I was with her the other night.'

'Oh you didn't...' Jac started, rolling her eyes.

'No, Jac, I did not sleep with her.'

'Michael, you do realise she's seduced most of the department, right?'

'Shut up, it wasn't like that.' He protested, 'We were in theatre together, it was late, I drove her home and we made some dinner, sat on the sofa for a bit and then I left.'

Jac looked puzzled. 'And you didn't even kiss her.'

'No, I didn't touch her! We just talked. It was nice. She seemed a little vulnerable, and you know it takes a lot to rattle someone like her.'

'Oh god.' Jac said, covering her face with her hand. 'It's worse than I thought.'

'We're just friends, that's all.'

Even as he said it, he began to imagine what it might have been like if they hadn't been so tired the other night. He wondered if she was ok, if there had been any more unwanted phonecalls. But then after all the times they'd clashed over a patient, over hospital funding, all the times he'd tried to make her look stupid in front of the board, even tried to get her sacked, it wasn't really any of his business to find out.

...

After all the decorations were put up and the big Victorian house was glowing with red and gold, Sam and Connie had eventually persuaded Grace that she needed to go to bed, just in case Santa caught her awake and didn't leave any presents. This had involved the promise of at least one bedtime story from Sam, so Connie had made up the bed in the spare room while he reacquainted himself with The Little Mermaid.

With Grace fast asleep in her pink pyjamas, he'd sunk gratefully into the soft mattress in the room next to Connie's, right in the middle of the king size wrought iron bed. The woman certainly had good taste in furniture.

The sound of the bathroom door closing let him know that she was finally going to bed. It was just like Connie to take ages in front of the mirror removing her makeup and applying that lovely scented cream that she used. He'd enjoyed a few fantasies about that in the past...

What would she do if he went to her right now? Would she turn him away? She hadn't seemed interested, she hadn't flirted with him as such, and yet... There was always something between them. A sense of unfinished business.

Brilliant. There was no way he was getting to sleep now, not with all those thoughts running through his head. He sighed and was fighting the desire to slip a hand beneath the duvet when there was a quiet knock on the bedroom door.

'Yes?'

Connie pushed it open and slipped into the room in a silky white robe, her dark hair falling in soft waves to her shoulders.

'Hi. You're probably tired, but we didn't get much chance to talk earlier...'

She hovered at the end of the bed, and he sat up, suddenly away of his naked upper body.

'Come here.' He told her, inviting her to sit on the bed next to him.

She moved closer without speaking, and he half expected her to protest, but instead she obediently sank down onto the bed and looked down at her knees.

'What's wrong?' He asked, concerned by her demeanour.

'Nothing. I'm glad you came back early. Grace seems really happy.'

'She had a great time with us, but I could tell she missed you. Connie, was that your ex-husband?'

She nodded. 'Don't worry about it. He won't be sticking around. He's got this silly idea in his head that we're meant to be together.'

'And... you don't agree.'

'No. Of course not. But we were married for 12 years. I'll always care about him.' She admitted.

'What, after everything he did?' Sam protested. 'He cheated on you, he infected the hospital with VRSA, he almost cost you your career!'

'He's my husband.' She said simply.

'_Was_, Connie, he _was_ your husband.'

'I don't have to explain myself to you Sam.' She replied angrily.

He knew he was screwing this up. Any second now she would get up and storm out. There was no point pushing Connie Beauchamp when she got defensive.

'No. You don't. I'm sorry. I just don't want you to get hurt. You're Grace's mum; whatever happens, I'll always look out for you.'

She nodded in acceptance and seemed to calm down.

'She's going to be beautiful, you know, just like you.' Sam said quietly, meaning every word.

Connie blushed and hit him playfully on the arm.

'Oh stop it, Mr Strachan, you don't need to suck up to me anymore.'

'Hey! I wasn't sucking up!' He replied, tickling her just below the ribs. She shrieked, and batted away his hands, but he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her closer. 'Shhh! You'll wake up our angelic little monster.' He said teasingly.

'Sam, get off!' She laughed as he carried on tickling her mercilessly, until her gown fell open and her little nightdress threatened to ride dangerously high up her thighs. 'Sam, stop it!' She commanded, pinning him down finally.

'Oh Connie.' He said with a sigh.

'What?' She asked, defensively.

He smirked. 'You always did like to be in control.'

And with that he rolled them both over easily, the duvet still a barrier between them, and took her place on top, pushing her gently down onto the bed.

'Sam?' Her voice was uncertain, but he knew what he was doing. He touched his lips to hers lightly and waited for a response.

...

Connie kissed him back, because it felt good. And why shouldn't they have some fun? They were both adults. And it had been a while. Plus, it wasn't as if they hadn't done it before...

She let herself be undressed slowly by Sam, who tenderly slipped the gown and nightdress from her body, kissing every inch of her soft skin as it was revealed. A sound somewhere between a sigh and a moan came involuntarily from her mouth as he teased her nipples with his tongue and then, suddenly, unexpectedly, he looked up, smiling, and said 'I missed you.'

_I miss you. I haven't stopped missing you._

Michael's words ran through her head, killing dead any enjoyment she might have been having.

'Sam, stop.' She told him, wriggling out of his grasp and grabbing her nightdress from the corner of the bed. She slipped it over her head and turned to face him. He looked like she'd just stamped on a puppy.

'Connie? What's wrong?' He asked, confused.

She tried to think of a decent excuse, but there wasn't one really. This was her fault, her weakness hurting both of them.

'It was a bad idea, Sam. This isn't going anywhere, I'm sorry.'

And then she ran. Out of the spare room, and back to hers, closing the door before he would even think about following her.

...

Banging. There was banging. A hammer? Inside his head? No, no, he wasn't imagining it, it must be the pillock from next door making a start on his DIY.

Michael eased one eye open and looked around the room. He could heard breathing. With a hint of a tiny snore. His first thought was Connie, but he knew he hadn't been that lucky. That didn't stop him idly pretending, just for a moment, that it was her lying next to him. Except that she wouldn't be lying next to him, if she was here they would be curled around each other, his morning hangover soothed by the feel of her soft skin against his.

He smiled at how ridiculous that sounded. When had he gotten so poetic?

He slowly turned over in the bed to face a sleeping Jac Naylor. As if she knew she was being watched, she woke suddenly and opened her eyes.

'Morning.' She said brightly.

'We did it, didn't we?' He asked, just to make sure.

She nodded. 'We fucked, yes.'

'Oh god.' He groaned, burying his head in the pillow. This was not supposed to happen.

'Oh don't be such a girl, Michael, you needed to have sex, trust me. It was fun, it was brief, and we'll probably never bother to do it again.' She said flippantly.

'You really are something, aren't you?'

'What?' Jac replied innocently.

'Right let's just go to work and forget about this, ok?'

'My thoughts exactly.' She replied, looking at her watch. 'I'm first in the shower.'

Sleeping with Jac Naylor. He remembered it, just, and it was fun, like she said. Maybe it didn't matter too much. As long as nobody ever found out.

...


End file.
